


Retirement

by cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories (cthulhu_is_chaotic_good)



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Alex Rider - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Post-everything, Retirement, Vacation, Yassen Gregorovich Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good/pseuds/cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories
Summary: Yassen is retired. And so, he hears, is Alex Rider. Determined to finally have a chance to talk, Yassen tracks down Alex to a tropical island, where the teenager is enjoying the sun and waves, and conversations ensue. One-shot.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Retirement

Alex wasn’t hard to find. The boy was lazing on a hammock tied between two tropical trees, one leg lazily dangling off the hammock and a toe tracing a path in the sand. A pink drink with a tiki umbrella poking out rested on the sand under the shadow of the taller tree.

Yassen approached, half expecting the boy to look up, panic, and run. Perhaps he would think Yassen was here to drag him out of retirement.

Except Alex hadn’t seen Yassen because his eyes were closed. Yassen walked until he was directly next to the hammock, and glanced down.

Alex was resting, his eyes closed and half hidden under tangled blonde hair. A necklace made of wooden beads was strung around his neck and peeked out from under the faded blue t-shirt Alex was wearing.

Yassen had heard Alex had been shot near the heart. It would have left a scar; maybe that was the reason for the shirt even when the surfboard on the sand nearby and the swimming trunks made it obvious that Alex had recently been swimming. Although with the gentle breeze drifting along the beach, a t-shirt made sense.

Jeans didn’t, and Yassen was beginning to wish he’d changed into beach appropriate attire after docking the boat.

And then Alex’s eyes drifted open, and Yassen stopped worrying about his clothes and abruptly began to worry about how Alex would react to seeing him here.

The reaction Yassen had been expecting was, more or less, the one he received.

At first Alex seemed to notice only that someone was close, and then his deep brown eyes widened. “You,” Alex said, sitting up and staring. “I saw you die!”

“No,” Yassen said, because Alex hadn’t, even if at the time he’d thought that was the case.

The boy stared. Yassen didn’t move, not meaning to cause the scene of needing to chase Alex down across the beach if the boy thought it would be necessary to run.

Alex didn’t run. Instead, his wide eyes narrowed. “Then you’re here to kill me.”

“Why would I do that?” Yassen asked.

“Because,” Alex hesitated.

Idly, Yassen wondered if Alex would have the nerve to say it.

As usual, Alex surprised him. Instead of the truth that they both knew about John, Alex settled for a harsher reality. “Because someone paid you and you don’t make things personal.”

“Can I sit?” Yassen asked. He knew that Alex heard that it wasn’t a denial of what Alex had said.

“I can’t stop you!” Alex retorted.

Reasonable. Yassen was armed. Alex didn’t seem to be. Throw in the years of experience (and excellent training) that Yassen had, and he knew that if they were to fight, their contest would not last long.

Yassen went to the large rock beside the shorter tree and sat down. “I heard you retired,” he said conversationally. “Sixteen is a bit young for that sort of decision.”

“I thought you wanted me to retire.”

“Yes,” Yassen agreed. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here to make sure I stay retired? Permanently?” There was a hard edge to Alex’s voice now.

The child clearly thought Yassen was here to snap his neck or offer an equally unpleasant fate, here in the sandy beaches of paradise. Yassen shouldn’t be amused, but despite himself, he was. “I’m here to give you help towards staying retired. But not how you’re imagining.”

“Then how?” Alex snarled. His feet now rested in the sand, and the boy was tensed, one hand curled into a fist and the other clutching at the hammock.

“I’ve been retired for over a year. Perhaps I have some advice.”

“Advice on faking your death right after sending someone to their own?”

“Advice on staying alive,” Yassen said plainly. “Advice that your father taught me, even as he worked for those who would happily have me shot.”

It took a moment for Alex to register the words. And then, grimacing, the boy’s fist uncurled. “I really hope you’re not lying to get me somewhere to kill me,” he said, and Yassen laughed.

“No, Alex, I’m not. As I said, I’m retired.”

“Bet you’re still carrying a gun,” Alex grumbled.

“Yes. It’s one of the ways I ensure that I stay retired.” Yassen looked back towards the tourist shops and the restaurants that were on the far edge of the beach. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“Yeah. But they make really great drinks.” Alex leaned down to grab the remains of his drink. “If you’re buying, that is.”

Yassen frowned. Clearly their first lesson would have to be not accepting food or drink from people you didn’t know, and who might have reason to kill you. The immediate successor to that first lesson would have to be ‘don’t get drunk around people that are more dangerous than you.’ Especially when the you in question was sixteen and had a low tolerance for alcohol.

“It’s non-alcoholic,” Alex said after he downed the rest of the obnoxiously colored concoction. “If that’s what you were worried about.”

“No,” Yassen mused. “I was wondering when the poison was going to kick in.”

Alex froze. Yassen rolled his eyes.

“That’s not funny!” Alex insisted, after he’d thrown the plastic cup on the sand and looked back up to see Yassen laughing.

“Of course not,” Yassen agreed faux-seriously as his smile faded. And then he _was_ serious again. “Neither is you finishing a drink you’d left unattended while you napped on a public beach, when you’ve half the criminal underworld out to kill you.” He went to retrieve the thrown plasticware while Alex processed the statement.

“What you’re saying is I shouldn’t let you buy my next drink?” Alex said skeptically. “Somehow, I think you’ve got a bigger budget than I do. Hawaii’s expensive.”

“I’ll give you money,” Yassen said. “But no. Don’t listen to my drink recommendations, and don’t drink your normal choice.”

“I wasn’t going to listen to your drink recommendations anyway. You’re Russian; I bet all you know is vodka.”

“Are we resorting to stereotypes now? That spares me wasting my time finding a good restaurant. The English don’t have good taste.”

Alex, surprised, only looked at him before ruefully shaking his head. “Fine. I ’ll get something you haven’t recommended, and I won’t be mean. But if you shoot anyone I’m leaving.”

“If I shoot anyone, it will because they’re a danger to one or both of us, and you’d be wise to stay with me.”

“I’m not running away from MI6 with the man who -“Alex started, and then he, perhaps registering what he was saying, stopped.

The tension that Yassen had been carrying for much of the previous few days - ever since he had heard that Alex was retiring, and set sail to find him - returned.

It was back to this then.

“The man who what, Alex?” he asked, softly. It was better to have this conversation now, rather than wait until an unpleasant argument in a crowded restaurant put them both in a spot of unpleasant attention.

A mess of emotions warred across the child’s face for a moment. Abruptly, the boy stood. “You know what? Forget it. I wanted to talk to you anyway, even when I thought you were dead. I don’t want to spend the whole time thinking about Ian. He wasn’t even who he claimed to be, and I get that it wasn’t personal.” A forced, tense smile showed that Alex was ready to move on.

Internally, Yassen sighed. It hadn’t been personal. Still. He wished Alex wasn’t at a point where he could accept that so easily. At sixteen, the murder of the man who had raised you should be personal.

“Alright,” Yassen agreed, still quiet.

Alex glanced at the surfboard nearby. “I need to return this. Wait here.”

Yassen wouldn’t have really been surprised if Alex didn’t return to the spot where the hammock rested between two trees. Alex didn’t owe Yassen anything, and their lives didn’t have to be intertwined any more than they already had been.

He wondered what he would do if it turned out he’d traveled all this way only to have his advice rejected. It wouldn’t be fair to track Alex down again. Yet, he noticed distantly, he wouldn’t be happy to leave Alex alone, knowing that the boy would only be killed later by someone with more skill and luck than Alex.

Across the beach, Alex stopped at the surfing shack.

Yassen turned away, to study the lapping waves of the tide. If Alex was going to leave, it was best if Yassen didn’t know which direction to follow.

Footsteps approached. “I want a snack, too, if you’re buying,” Alex said.

Yassen turned in time to see the teenager yawn. “I was almost asleep before you got here,” the boy complained.

“I’m sure this is the worst annoyance you’ve ever faced,” Yassen agreed.

“Yeah, well,” Alex mumbled. “Where’s my free drink?”

Yassen took them to a restaurant instead of a bar, after surveying the inhabitants of the first bar they walked across. And, after they sat down and Alex surveyed the menu for a moment, Yassen asked for the boy’s version of the previous two years.

Alex’s version was certainly more entertaining than the grumblings Yassen had heard from others on the opposite side of the boy’s endeavors.

Yassen listened, and got them snacks (which Alex dove into with relish), and asked questions.

He ignored the persistent voice in his head that told him things would have better if he had reached out sooner.

And then Alex said he retired, with MI6’s blessing, and that he had questions of his own.

No one could ever say Alex was incurious.

The boy shot question after question about Yassen’s life recently. Then, after a short pause where the boy glanced very seriously out at the ocean, he began to spout questions about John. What he had been like, what he ate, whether he was funny, what music he listened to, and how well Yassen had known him.

The last question was a knife to the heart.

Alex seemed to recognize what he’d said, a moment too late to take the comment back. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

Yassen dismissed the apology. “He taught me to survive in a world when he had every reason to fail me. He was a good man, Alex, regardless of whatever else you hear or have heard.”

And then he changed the topic, none-too-subtly, by retelling his first memories of the man.

Alex didn’t interrupt.

\--

Later, Alex would realize that he hadn’t known he’d been wondering so many questions. He certainly didn’t expect to look outside of the restaurant window and realize it was dark, just as he hadn’t expected to beam so hard at a story of his dad taking down five new recruits at once or to hear about his mum.

Yassen had seen his mum. His mum and dad, together, and happy, once upon a time in Paris.

After they actually ate dinner, Alex expected Yassen to leave. But instead, the man lingered, after the stepped out onto the beach, and looked at him quietly. “What are your plans now? School?”

“I’m retired in Hawaii,” Alex replied. “I’m going to quit school and enter surfing competitions. They’ll make an inspirational movie about me. The former spy who gave up saving the world to surf the world. Alex Rider: he rides the waves.”

Alex could swear the older man was amused.

“The stars are really clear here,” Alex continued. “Didn’t you say you lived in a city? I can never see the stars in London, with the light pollution there.”

“Most of the time,” Yassen said. “When I’m at sea, I can see the stars from the Fer easily enough.”

Alex strode onto the sand, avoiding by a large kilometer the family that was lounging nearby. Yassen followed.

On an isolated enough patch of sand, where trees mostly blocked the light from the strip of restaurants and bars that they’d come from, Alex sat down, his hands holding him up as he leaned back and looked up at the sky.

“Are you joining?”

“If you want.”

“You’re not the worst company I’ve ever had. And you haven’t actually told me how to stay retired yet.”

That was true. They’d been so wrapped up in retelling recent events and stories of John that Yassen hadn’t even figured out yet how the boy was planning to stay alive. Whatever Alex’s plan was, so long as it wasn’t “run screaming at the remnants of SCORPIA with a sword and hope for the best”, Yassen could offer the advice he would consider best for complimenting Alex’s plan.

Yassen joined Alex on the sand, and looked up as well.

“I used to be able to name the constellations,” Alex said conversationally. “Now I mainly just remember how to navigate based on the stars if I’m lost without a compass.”

“Your father knew the constellations, and their stories.”

“Really?” Alex perked up. “How do you know?”

“I read his mind.”

Alex groaned. “Ok, so he told you?”

“That or you’ve been severely underestimating the skills that people can learn.”

“Oh great,” Alex muttered. “I didn’t realize that you’d chased me down just to torture me with the worst jokes I’ve ever heard.”

Yassen smiled. “That’s my first advice for retirement: don’t underestimate your opponent.”

“We’re sitting down together and talking about the stars. I don’t think you know what an opponent is.”

It was true, Yassen reflected, that they were right now a far cry from where they’d been a year and a half ago.

Yassen definitely preferred this Alex to the one who had chased him down only to point a gun at his head.

Yassen preferred this version of himself as well - the one who wasn’t spending his time making Alex increasingly upset at his crimes.

“Would you like to relearn the constellations?” Yassen asked. He wasn’t sure where the question had come from; he only remembered a few of the constellations John had taught him, ages ago in Greece.

The first constellation Yassen noticed was Scorpius, but for obvious reasons he decided to start with another.

“Do you know any of them?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I know the big dipper, and I don’t see the small one but I can usually find it.”

Different constellations were observable in different locations, and for a moment Yassen struggled to find a constellation he knew. Most of his knowledge came from a long night of stakeout in the Greek countryside, and the star arrangement here in Hawaii looked nothing like the stars had that long ago night. The constellations such as Orion that shone brightly there were noticeably absent here.

And then Yassen noticed one constellation he’d learned about in a guidebook that he’d read when he was young, back when he was still working simple missions with isolated targets, and still learning to blend into the surroundings.

“Do you know Crux?” Yassen asked, pointing. Alex’s gaze, as best as Yassen could tell in the dark of the beach, followed his reach out to the stars.

“Crux sounds sinister,” Alex muttered. “Like someone working for a terrorist group.”

“You have an overactive imagination. The word is only Latin for a cross. But look.” Yassen traced the path between the stars that formed the cross’s shape. “It’s brightest in the islands out here in the Pacific. You wouldn’t see this one anywhere else.”

“I think I see it. But a cross is a bit of a copout for a constellation, isn’t it? There are five stars near each other everywhere, even if those stars are brighter.”

“It points South, and has uses in navigation. It’s not just four bright stars. And it’s on the Australian flag, which is how I learned about it.”

“Let me guess. Your second advice for retirement is to know how to navigate without any tools. You know - just in case I’m kidnapped and dropped in the middle of a desert.”

“My second piece of advice is not to put yourself in a situation where you could be kidnapped and dropped in the middle of a desert.”

“I’m rolling my eyes,” Alex informed him. “Just in case you couldn’t see because, you know, it’s dark outside.”

“My third piece of advice is not to roll your eyes at people who are carrying weapons that they know how to use.”

“I’m not that worried about it,” Alex dismissed. “I figure by now you could’ve actually poisoned my drink. Anyway,” the boy stopped and yawned. Sleepiness suddenly obvious in his voice, he continued, “No one would like me as much without my sass.”

“Obviously,” Yassen agreed, dryly.

“I think Sayle and Cray liked it as well, don’t you? They were some of my biggest fans.” Alex’s tone suddenly grew serious. “ I never had a chance to thank you. Well, I guess I did the first time, but, you know. Other things on my mind. But thanks for your help with both of them.”

“You did well, both times. You have done well in general.”

Alex deserved retirement. Yassen hoped the boy understood that.

Alex yawned again. “S’alright. Do you know any more star pictures?”

Yassen did. And over the next few hours, he pointed them out to Alex, as the beach emptied of the few tourists and locals who remained, and the distant remnants of lights from the local businesses twinkled on.

\--

Yassen watched the waves roll onto the sandy early morning beach from the deck of the Fer de Lance, and smiled. It was a relief to know Alex was safe, at least currently. It was also, he would admit, a relief to know that the boy didn’t quite hate him anymore.

The moon, finally, fully disappeared from the sky, replaced by the orange rays of the sun. It would be a calm day. Perfect for surfing, which Alex had claimed to want to get back to, after breakfast.

They were meeting early for breakfast. Alex had insisted he was taking as many free meals and alcohol-free cocktails as Yassen felt like paying for.

Yassen checked his weapons again. They were in working order - not that he intended to use them today. If life was kinder than he knew it would be, he didn’t intend to need to use weapons for anything other than practice, just in life in general. Then, once he’d stowed two guns and a knife where no one would see them and be worried, he headed towards the address Alex had given him.

The boy was already there, reading a thin book with a picture of a mountain on the front. “Something inspirational?” Yassen guessed as he took the remaining seat.

Alex lazily closed the book and shoved it across the table. “Not really. It’s a thriller I got at the airport.”

“Any good?”

The face Alex made in response wasn’t a vote for the book to win ‘Read of the Year’.

“Could be worse,” Alex said. “I’d rather talk, though.”

Yassen, occasionally, had eaten food with others over a mission, or while maintaining a cover. It must have been about 4 years since he’d had a chance to rest and eat food with a person he genuinely liked. And he was fond of Alex (he had been, of course, even before ever talking with the boy).

Alex was talking absent mindedly about returning to school in London soon, and seeing his friends, and how football was going. His life sounded normal.

At sixteen, Yassen’s life had not been normal.

It was good go see that Alex had escaped this world, sanity relatively intact. Well, sanity roughly as intact as it had ever been. This was still the boy who’s response to leaving SCORPIA was to burn the organization to the ground. The boy who had threatened to destroy a flash-drive of secrets with glue until his friend was in danger.

“Sorry,” Alex said, breaking off mid-sentence after a ramble about the Chelsea football team. “I should probably ask whether you like football. Otherwise, this is probably worse than hearing the latest madman’s spiel on how to kill millions of people because their childhood was difficult or something. I don’t know the specifics though. I don’t really listen when people like your bosses talk.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Yassen replied.

Something - too fast to be identified - flickered in Alex’s eyes. And then it was gone, and Alex was just the smiling teenager who could have been anyone happy to be on vacation in Hawaii, enjoying freshly squeezed orange juice and a tourist’s breakfast.

“Is that advice one for enjoying retirement? Don’t listen to madmen? I’ll follow that advice all day.”

“Yes. My second advice for enjoying your retirement is, ‘don’t back.’” Yassen said it carelessly, but watching Alex’s expression, it was clear he had hit a nerve. Or something else was at play.

Alex, glancing out at the restaurant, reached for his orange juice and took a long sip.

Yassen had too much experience with interrogations to miss the signs: Alex was avoiding eye contact. He was hiding something.

“This would be a good cover for a mission,” Yassen said, testing the proverbial waters.

Alex looked back, alarmed. “No, it’s not! I’m not, I’m,” he stammered.

- _Not retired,_ was the immediate thought that jumped into Yassen’s head.

“You’re what, Alex?”

Alex stopped stammering, and bit his lip.

Sometimes it was obvious he was barely out of childhood.

“I’m on vacation,” Alex said. “I really am, I swear.”

What did he think was going to happen if Yassen found out that Alex was lying? This wasn’t a trap to catch Yassen, even if the boy was on a mission. No one had asked Yassen to come. And the way that Yassen had heard of the boy’s retirement could not have been planted by MI6. At least, not without ignoring easier routes.

“What does retirement mean to you?” Yassen asked mildly. He took another bite of food, trying to show he wasn’t any more a threat to Alex now than a moment ago.

“What does retirement mean to MI6, more like,” Alex muttered under his breath. Then he looked at Yassen, unashamed. “It wasn’t my idea to lie to everyone. And I wasn’t trying to lie to you. I’m really on vacation. My friend is joining me in a couple of days. But I’m not retired.”

“They want people to think you are, and drop their guard.”

“Yeah.” Alex smiled. “It would have worked too, without those meddlesome dead men.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Yassen put his fork down, and considered Alex. “I wish you were retired, but I ‘m not going to come here and try to change your life choices.”

“Thanks. I have enough doubt about this as it is. And I understand if you need to go now, since I’m an active security risk and all.”

“No,” Yassen said. “I don’t need to go. And I may have more advice for you, now that I know you’re staying active.”

“Really?” Alex tilted his head. “That would actually help. Not that I want to get better at shooting anyone, of course.”

“My advice wasn’t going to help you shoot anyone.” Yassen thought for a second, then amended, “Not unless it was necessary.”

“How much advice do you have?” Alex wondered.

Sixteen years’ worth, in truth. Probably all valuable, although some less so. Yassen had survived longer than most, in any case.

“And how long can you stay?”

“When does your friend arrive?” Yassen asked.

“Sunday afternoon.”

It was Friday morning. They had some time. Not enough, not by a long shot, but some time.

“I have until then,” Yassen said.

“Strange how coincidences work.”

“The first advice for getting to retirement is to stop believing in coincidences,” Yassen rebutted.

Mock serious, Alex asked, “Should I take notes?”

“This isn’t school.” Yassen reached for his wallet, and pulled out more than enough to cover the bill. “But they will be some intensive few days.”

“So, I should take notes.”

Yassen smiled, shook his head, and left money on the table. “Let’s go. I’m going to figure out what you know on the Fer, and we can go from there.”

“The first advice kids are taught is not to go to strange boats with retired assassins,” Alex said. Then he, too, shrugged. “But alright then. Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone on Discord, and wanted to share. Hopefully this is a fun, fluff-filled one-shot that others can enjoy.


End file.
